Dirty Feet, Messy Hair, & Sparkling Eyes
by mack6506
Summary: A collection of one-shots (sort of) of Booth and Brennan and their family. Starts at season 6 and includes troubles from season 10.
1. A Life, A Love, and A Baby

**At the end of the day, your feet should be dirty, your hair messy, and your eyes sparkling.**

She sat in the waiting room,

silently,

alternating between fiddling with the stuffed bunny in her lap

and staring blankly into space.

The others were there, too, of course,

Cam

and Wendell

and Sweets.

And Booth, too.

She kept glancing over toward him without really meaning to.

He was sitting a couple seats away, facing her general direction but not really looking at her,

like he knew,

for whatever reason,

she needed space,

and he was giving it to her.

But sometimes she would look up and he'd be looking at her.

A few weeks ago,

he would have looked away.

He didn't do that now.

He simply held her gaze

and smiled slightly

until she ducked her head and smiled

in flattered embarrassment.

Despite all this,

it was very quiet.

Well,

except for Angela's exasperated screams,

which came every few minutes from behind the door.

Brennan expected they came with each contraction.

She shuddered internally at the thought of such pain,

something she generally didn't give much thought to,

since it was done so regularly

and was,

after all,

natural, an evolutionary purpose for all women.

Still,

it made her nervous.

Which made her glance at Booth anxiously even more often.

His gentle assurance made her all at once

very at ease

and all the more anxious.

She had to tell him soon.

But,

she didn't want to

"steal Angela's lightning",

or whatever it was.

So she hadn't yet.

At least,

that's why she kept telling herself that she hadn't yet.

She didn't want to admit that she was rather scared,

both of his reaction

and what would surely happen if he chose not to be a part of it.

She had lost herself so deep in thought that she barely heard the click of the door open,

barely saw Hodgins come through and introduce his son, Michael Vincent,

whose name she couldn't help but smile at,

both for the life of the man and for his death,

which led her to Booth.

Finally pulling herself from her thoughts

(for the most part, anyway),

she snuck back,

away from the commotion,

into the quiet room where Angela lay,

looking exhausted,

but so incredibly happy.

Seeing her like this,

asking about her experience,

offering the stuffed bunny Booth had helped her pick out,

she almost told her.

But she reminded herself that Booth had the right to know first,

that she didn't really want anyone else's input until then,

anyway.

They had been talking for quite some time when Hodgins interrupted with the baby,

who needed to be fed.

Angela insisted Brennan stay until after,

wanting "his godmother" to be one of the first to hold him.

And so she stayed,

talking and watching Angela and her son,

a look of inquiry crossing her face that Angela took note of.

With all the questions she had been asking,

and that look,

and all the details of what had happened with Booth that night,

she had a feeling.

And when Michael Vincent was done feeding

and Angela unceremoniously plopped the baby into Brennan's arms,

she knew.

Nobody who doesn't want children would look at a baby like that.

So, when Brennan excused herself to leave the family to get some rest,

she was sure she had mistaken the twinkle in Angela's eye,

the wink she had given her,

but she hadn't.

She made her way out into the waiting room,

fully expecting everyone to have left

(it was three o'clock in the morning, after all).

Instead, she was met with Booth,

who looked very out of place as he dozed in a tiny waiting room chair.

She grazed his shoulder with her fingers,

bending slightly to ease him out of sleep,

out of this hospital,

back home.

She didn't honestly know where home would be,

at this point.

Neither of them had spent the night at the other's since Vincent's death,

but that wasn't to say she didn't expect it happening again soon.

Either way,

he slowly made his way up,

cracked his back

(for which she reprimanded him),

and led the way out of the hospital.

She had to admit,

walking in the glow of the street lamps,

that DC,

for all the crime they had seen happen there,

was quite a beautiful city at night.

She was comfortable with Booth by her side,

their shoulders brushing ever so slightly with every step,

her relative ease surprising her with how anxious she had felt before.

They were close to her apartment when she mentioned Angela's new baby.

He began assuring her that it was healthy,

they were all happy,

not to worry.

Internally,

she chuckled a bit at him

and rolled her eyes because he just didn't get it.

At the same time her unease was almost tangible.

If she didn't know better,

she would have thought Booth could hear her heartbeat,

it was thumping so loud in her ears.

He actually might have noticed her shaking.

It wasn't until she found him staring at her that she realized she had stopped.

 _I guess this is it, then, isn't it?_

She spoke the truth in what seemed to her like a whisper,

but which was actually strong and clear.

The goofy smile he had on his lips was one she would never forget.

It all at once filled her with floods of relief and an urge to kiss those lips again.

Which,

with his reaction being what it was,

she foresaw a lot of kissing in their future.

He smiled that goofy smile

and pulled her into a lopsided hug,

whispering words of happiness and excitement in her ear.

She didn't speak; couldn't, really.

Tears were threatening to spill over,

after such a release of tension like that.

She knew he was a good man,

knew he would stand by his actions

and accept the consequences.

But she never knew how fully he would embrace them,

to the point where they were no longer consequences,

but a life, and a love, and a baby,

with her.

And she thought that she loved him, then.

She didn't say anything of course,

but she thought she knew.

The feeling strengthened as they walked the rest of the way to her apartment.

It strengthened as she unlocked the door,

and instead of saying his goodbyes,

he stepped inside and took off his shoes.

It strengthened as she opened an extra toothbrush for him to borrow,

and as he crawled into her bed,

and as he cradled her face, her body,

in his arms as if she had suddenly become very fragile.

He talked to her softly until her eyelids started to droop

and the exhaustion of the day overtook her body.

It was right before sleep swept her into oblivion that she heard him speak once more,

but not to her this time.

 _To their baby_.

She wanted to tell him that the fetus was so small that it wouldn't have developed its hearing yet,

but she didn't.

Instead she smiled slightly,

letting the sleep wash over her.

And she knew.

She was a goner.


	2. So Good

He had been sleeping with her for seven months now.

And not in the sexual sense

(although there had been _plenty_ of that,

probably to compensate for lost time),

but in the actual,

living with her,

multiple toothbrushes in the bathroom,

his clothes in her closet,

there to make her breakfast in the morning,

sleeping with her.

And he loved her.

More than he knew what to do with.

He had known for a long time,

much longer than she,

and he had told her only a few weeks after they had been living together.

A few weeks after she had told him the best news of his life.

The news that finally brought them together,

although they both knew it would have happened eventually.

They weren't because of the baby.

It did help, though.

Bones liked to call her their "little catalyst",

which he didn't understand at first but now he did.

She brought them together faster and better than he had imagined in his head for the past six years.

He woke up next to her every day now,

brought her coffee,

which helped her mood

(he had found her to be surprisingly grumpy in the mornings).

They made breakfast together.

He showered,

she curled her hair,

they got dressed

(usually with a few kisses thrown in),

and they got out of the house at a relatively reasonable hour

(depending on the amount and longevity of said kisses).

They did their work,

like normal,

the stares and whispers about them from their coworkers _finally_ starting to die down,

and he picked her up from the Jeffersonian at night,

because she no longer stayed late,

and also because she found she could no longer drive comfortably in her Prius.

He brought her home

(a wonderfully domestic term that he never took for granted),

they cooked together,

ate together,

he rubbed her feet while they talked,

she showered (which he loved, because she brought her shampoo-scented hair into the bed with her),

and they (usually) went to bed.

It was the same every day.

It was so domestic,

so monotonous,

as to be painful.

But he adored it.

It was all he had ever wanted with her.

They were no longer young;

he didn't need to travel with her to every romantic country in the world.

He didn't need to drastically change either of their routines to make life interesting.

 _She_ was interesting.

And he loved her.

He loved listening to her talk,

or laugh,

or snore (which she denied, but which she definitely did).

He loved sharing his life with her.

Well,

maybe not at this _exact_ moment,

as she was currently taking up over half of the bed,

sprawled out and kicking him every so often

that her snoring was the least of his worries.

He had to remind himself that _he loved her_ ,

no matter how exasperating she got.

When she sprung up,

sighing with such exasperation he thought she might have heard his thoughts,

he turned.

He thought she had been sleeping.

"Your…daughter…is kicking…my spleen," she groaned

between adjustments to her pillow.

She looked as though she might cry,

which was new ground for Booth.

She was a yeller,

a pointer-of-fingers,

and a rationalizer

when she was angry.

She was _not_ an angry crier.

Yet here she was,

the stubborn woman he loved

boiled down to her most vulnerable,

angry and crying in their bed because she

 _couldn't get comfortable._

He shushed her,

which only made her more angry,

pushed her hair from her face,

and leaned down to talk to their baby girl.

He rubbed Bones' belly,

gently massaging it as he spoke.

"Ohhh, _thank you_ ," she breathed.

He didn't know why,

and he didn't really want to,

but their baby always quieted at the sound of his voice.

He liked to think it was a quality only he possessed,

something that could soothe both mother and child.

He loved that.

So he curled up around her,

propped her up between his legs,

and let her lean into his chest as he rubbed her belly.

When he heard her snores,

he knew his job was finished.

But he sat there anyway,

ignoring his own fatigue,

just listening to her breathing.

He loved her.

My God,

he loved her so much.

And he knew it wasn't going to be easy

(it never could be, with this woman),

but it was going to be so good.


	3. The World Stopped

He would reprimand her for years to come for this.

She supposed she would let him,

although she still didn't regret staying at that prison;

they caught the killer, after all.

He kept telling her he was sorry,

that this wasn't the right time,

wasn't the right place.

She told him otherwise;

she honestly didn't care where it was,

she just wanted this baby _out_.

Her rationale told her that he was right, though;

if a hospital was dirty and filled with germs,

this barn was probably ten times worse.

But her rationale had been overridden for the time being,

one of the only times in her life that that had happened.

Her body convulsed and she curled around her belly.

This _hurt._

And Temperance Brennan had dealt with pain before.

She had been held hostage on a trip in South America.

She had fought off guerillas just last year in Maluku.

She had been beaten by countless foster parents,

been starving,

been blown up and held at gunpoint and so many other things

because of this job she had with Booth.

Still,

 _this hurt_.

Wave after wave of contractions hit her and it was all she could do not to beg for drugs she knew she didn't want nor did they have on hand.

So she screamed.

She screamed and she held on to Booth,

who,

for whatever miraculous (though not quite the right word, as she did not believe in miracles) reason,

had been the one to go along on this journey with her,

to make this baby with her.

She would thank a God for him and his patience and his tenderness and his love as she went through this grueling process, if she believed in one.

He wiped her face,

he let her squeeze his hand till both sets of knuckles were white,

he cradled her head,

massaged her back,

kissed her hands,

checked on the baby.

He was flawless,

for someone who not thirty minutes ago was being yelled at

and behaving like a nervous wreck.

Yet, for someone who seemed so adept at handling births,

he kept arguing with her,

and just as he was starting to argue (once again, she internally huffed) about his beliefs,

a particularly strong contraction set in,

and she knew, instinctually, she had to push.

Once he heard that he dropped the argument right off,

and if she had been in less pain, she would've cared that she won.

She didn't, though.

Instead she screamed

and contorted her face and body

and pushed and pushed and pushed

and screamed some more.

She vaguely heard Booth offering reassurances,

even saying something about seeing her head,

but didn't honestly hear anything but the blood rushing through her eardrums.

Well, until her daughter's cries pierced the air.

At that moment, the world stopped.

(She reminded herself that that wasn't actually possible,

that she had to be secreting some extreme levels of hormones

to be speaking in such metaphors,

but she didn't dwell on it;

to her, the world _had_ stopped).

Immediately, she began to laugh because the happiness inside her simply could not be contained.

She laughed and she cried and she reached her arms out for her baby girl.

They sat there and watched her, for a while.

She stopped crying when Brennan took her,

and they just looked at each other.

She wouldn't know this until much, much later,

but Booth swore they were sizing each other up.

They looked, and Booth always assumed would be, exactly alike.

Their stupor was interrupted with Booth's insistence of cutting her umbilical cord,

gently prying her from her mother's embrace to clean them both.

What he had was limited,

but thankfully they had had a couple of staple items in the back of his truck;

towels,

a first aid kit,

and one of the numerous baby blankets they had purchased.

He cleaned their daughter while Brennan situated herself in a sitting position

(although she was very sore)

and then watched as Brennan swaddled their baby girl in the blanket

as if she had been doing so her entire life.

She held her close to her chest,

kissing the top of her head

and rocking her slowly.

Booth smiled at the recollection that she had once sworn off children altogether.

She was having the same thought.

How could she have been so adamant that this amount of love never enter her life?

Because she _loved_ her,

achingly so,

in a way that she had never loved anyone before,

not even Booth.

He let her be for a moment longer before he took on his role of protective father,

gently urging Brennan to be helped into the vehicle so they could go to the hospital.

He wanted them both checked on before they went home,

as a precaution,

and, for once,

she agreed.

They hadn't installed the car seat so he drove exceptionally carefully with Brennan cradling their daughter,

who they decided on the car ride there would be called Christine,

in her arms.

The hospital visit was short-lived,

as both mommy and daughter were doing just fine.

Booth then piled his family back into the SUV and drove them home,

Brennan never taking her eyes off their sleeping bundle.

Apparently Angela and the rest of the gang couldn't wait to get their eyes on her, either,

because the little family showed up at home to greetings of congratulations and excitement,

though hushed for Christine's sake.

They passed her around and sipped champagne,

and though Angela wanted to talk about _everything_ (per usual),

Brennan was exhausted.

So the party filed out,

Angela with promises of conversation tomorrow.

("You're on maternity leave now, so we can sit and talk as long as we want to!")

Booth helped a very sore Brennan up the stairs and sat with their daughter while Brennan showered and changed, as she was still covered in hay and sweat.

She took her daughter ( _daughter_ ) from Booth so he could shower, too,

and went to the nursery to rock and nurse her.

It was uncomfortable at first,

but, once used to it,

she found it such a bonding experience.

This little, tiny, defenseless person

depended on her,

and only her.

Nobody else could give her what she needed.

Brennan smiled at that,

her heart warm.

She loved her more than she thought possible.

If she had known how this would have felt,

she never would have opposed the idea at all.

In fact,

she would have accidentally slept with Booth sooner,

she thought.


	4. Two Sets of Feet

Christine had just been put to bed,

Brennan's father hugged and kissed and sent home.

She was brushing her teeth,

he was taking the pillows off the bed.

She spat.

"I think I might be pregnant."

She said it with such nonchalance,

as if adding that specific tone of voice would make it any less significant.

He dropped the pillow he was holding.

"What?"

She rinsed her mouth and put the toothbrush back before she answered.

"I said, I think I might be pregnant. Was I not clear enough?"

He shook his head.

"No, you were plenty clear Bones. But hold on a second, when did this happen?"

"This morning. I just hadn't thought about it in a while and…I guess I'm late."

Once the shock set in, Booth was practically giddy.

He paced around their room as Brennan calmly slid into bed.

She lifted her eyes every once and a while from her book to watch him,

pacing,

talking to her,

making exaggerated hand gestures.

She smiled out of the corner of her mouth.

He slid into bed with her.

"We have to check, to be sure," he said,

laying his head down on his pillow,

in the perfect position to face her tummy and imagine a third child of his growing in there.

She followed his gaze and chuckled good-naturedly.

"Yes, I thought so too. Which is why I was going to go get a pregnancy test tomorrow morning and see."

"Oh, good! Yeah, I'll get Christine ready and breakfast and everything, we'll just wait for you here to see if there really is a little fella in there!"

He smoothed his hand over her still-flat belly as he said this.

She patted his hand with hers and placed her book on the nightstand.

With a flick of the light, she snuggled down into the covers,

into Booth.

She waited patiently through his chatter of the coming morning,

through the soft silence that followed,

all the way to his gentle heavy breaths that signaled he was asleep.

It was only then that she let herself feel an ounce of excitement.

She would hold off on the rest to make sure it was for due cause;

she couldn't bear to have worked up such a happiness just to have it come to nothing.

Her experience with disappointment was already too vast.

But still,

she was human,

and as she drifted off to sleep,

she imagined a world where two sets of feet came to her bedside every morning,

and two strong hugs of, "Good morning, Mommy!" greeted her.

It seemed like a moment later when she awoke,

only to find mere blinks between dressing,

picking up her pregnancy test,

returning home,

and waiting for its results.

Booth was already planning out a nursery,

judging Christine's big sister skills,

when the pent up excitement Brennan had held in was released

in a sudden,

very un-Brennan-like

squeal.

She heard it and still she could not apologize.

Their family would grow!

She was going to be a mother again!

It seemed,

as though the universe liked to play tricks on them,

that Booth and Brennan had conceived

unexpectedly

again.

But she felt no regret.

She was married to the man she loved.

She had one healthy, happy child to measure both her own happiness and her newfound competence in parenting.

She knew what it meant to be a parent.

And,

though now a more tangible task,

though it proclaimed itself daunting,

bringing a child into this crazy, hell-bent world she had seen,

she was over the moon excited.

She already loved this little someone,

found herself rubbing her stomach even though their growth was immeasurable as of yet,

found herself speaking to them even though their hearing had not yet developed.

She loved that little someone,

and now she knew it was her job to protect them,

and nurture them,

and show them just how loved they were,

from here on out.

It was responsibility but it hardly compared to her emotions,

because _oh_ ,

how she _loved_ them.


	5. Taking Up Space

She was more restless than she had ever been in her life.

How could a day that started off so wonderfully

end in late night tossing and turning

and worry worry worry?

Her eyes would flicker every once and a while to the clock on the nightstand,

and she'd feel a pang in her chest that he wasn't back

 _still._

His side of the bed was cold,

and she found without his strong chest to lean into that she was far too uncomfortable to sleep.

Besides, his presence would soothe her beyond physical comfort.

With him here,

she would know he was safe,

that he wasn't falling into his old habits,

that the gambler she met so many years ago really had turned around,

that he loved her enough to do that.

But he wasn't there.

And so she worried,

more than she had in her entire life.

More even than the time that same Booth was trapped on a ship,

about to explode.

Yes, she had worried then,

but this was an entirely new kind.

It was all-encompassing,

the kind that comes from loving someone with your whole being,

from every follicle of hair to your tingling toes.

She had not loved Booth in this way ever before,

and so,

she concluded,

although this was not a life-threatening situation,

her worry had increased

because she loved him so.

It had been hours of rolling around,

making messes of the sheets (and not in a good way)

when she decided if she was going to be up,

she might as well make herself some tea.

She got up,

put on her slippers,

and made her way through her darkened house to the kitchen,

stopping by Christine's room on the way

because when you worry about one thing,

you always worry about another.

She found herself paranoid beyond compare,

but seeing the sleeping form of her daughter in her big-girl bed

calmed her,

at least partially.

But closing her bedroom door reopened the full-fledged worry about her husband,

and she sought comfort in busying herself with her tea-making.

It took too long and not long enough for the water to boil,

and she sat fiddling her fingers with the handle of the mug,

every so often glancing at the clock on the microwave,

the door,

the windows.

It was four o'clock in the morning before she whipped her head around at the sound of her husband entering their house.

He seemed surprised to see her up,

but he should have known that by now,

she was incapable of sleeping alone.

She needed him more than she usually liked to admit,

but not tonight.

Tonight she saw him come through the door and all she could think about was the relief she felt that he had, in fact,

walked through it.

She fought the urge to ignore the late hour,

ignore his suspicious behavior,

and simply lead him to bed and hold him close in all his warmth.

But she didn't.

Instead she sat still on the bar stool,

watching in something close to real horror as he pulled out a large wad of cash.

She questioned him,

bantered back and forth,

which made him angry,

until finally he asked if she even trusted him at all,

if her faith in him was so dwindling.

She strained to make him understand that which he was so inept to see;

she _loved_ him,

achingly so,

couldn't he realize that?

Couldn't he look into her worried face and see the love in her eyes,

the love buried so deep within her,

the love that only belonged to him?

She had tremendous amounts of faith in him;

she had told him so,

back when they almost didn't get married.

She would stand by him through absolutely anything,

and she knew of his strength,

and his courage,

and his love for her.

Which was why she yearned to keep him this way,

sober,

clean,

whole and present in their growing family.

She wanted him to be there for her,

for their children,

in all the ways her father never was for her.

And she needed to make sure he wasn't falling down the rabbit hole again to feel secure in his place in their home.

Apparently this wasn't clear enough, though,

because he dropped the conversation,

and she followed him somewhat tentatively to their bedroom,

where his warmth once again filled the bed,

but seemed only to be taking up space.

She did not snuggle under his arm.

She did not lean into his chest as it contentedly raised and fell.

She turned toward the clock on her nightstand which had tantalized her earlier,

listened to his breathing slowly deepen until she knew he was asleep,

let a tear or two fall down her nose without wiping them away,

and continued to watch the clock,

counting down the seconds to morning,

when she would have to face him again and try to get through to him,

again.

Until then, she worried.

Needless to say, she did not get any sleep that night.


	6. Late Night Calls

She was anxious as she paced,

waiting for her husband to come home.

There was so much swimming through her brain,

which was usually so clear and concise,

a place of rational refuge in this busy, busy world.

She knew what she had to do,

and she was a strong woman.

She was strong enough to do what had to be done.

But it didn't make it hurt any less.

Christine was at her father's

because she couldn't stand to think of her daughter

hearing something like this by accident.

Her dad knew.

She had to tell him,

although he was more than willing to take Christine without explanation.

She felt he deserved it,

and it made her feel better to get it off her chest to someone other than Aubrey.

He was a huge help,

he really was,

but he didn't know her well enough to know how to comfort her.

She would have told Angela except she needed her to not be angry at him,

so the case could be solved,

but mostly because she wasn't ready to have a conversation where Angela bashed her husband for what he had done to her.

She was glad to have a loyal friend,

but what she needed was her father,

her daddy,

who,

despite his failings,

did provide support in a way no one else could.

And she needed that.

So,

he had held her close in a hug which almost made her burst into tears,

but she held her composure and kissed her baby goodnight,

leaving her for the chaos that surely would ensue back at her own house.

And there she was,

pacing,

when Aubrey called.

She told him to pay the bookie off,

not in any way to bail Booth out,

but to keep her and her daughter safe.

It was her only priority,

her only focus that existed within her clouded mind.

She hung up when Booth came through the door,

expecting a kiss and hug from his daughter and his wife,

and when he found out one of the two was missing,

a long night making up for lost time with Brennan.

And she almost wanted to give him that,

because he walked through that door and all she could see

was how much she loved him.

But she held strong,

for the very same reason;

it was because she loved him she had to get him to set his life back on track.

So she asked him a loaded question,

gave him a chance to come clean.

Her heart sunk when he looked her in the eye,

the woman he loved,

and told her a barefaced lie.

She was very near to breaking down then.

But she choked back the sobs to tell him what she knew,

and watch as his face turned panicky with what she was sure was a surge of nervous adrenaline rushing through him.

She watched the strongest man she knew begin to beg her to let him stay,

and she had to turn him away,

refuse his love,

for now.

It killed her to see him dejectedly pick up the things he had just set down,

but she kept her mouth shut and swallowed the sobs once more.

The door closed.

And immediately she hit the floor.

Her knees gave way and she cried,

heart wrenching sobs which wracked her body,

bent her double over her ( _their_ ) child.

It seemed the tears would never stop.

And they didn't.

She was still crying fairly hard when her best friend picked up the phone.

The alarm in her voice only made it worse,

and she knew it was because there were very few times in their ten years of friendship that Angela had heard her like this.

All she knew to say was that she needed her,

and there was a click as Angela hung up the phone to leave her house.

The tears had subsided by the time Brennan opened her door,

and she immediately felt herself being pulled into a tight,

warm,

loving embrace.

"Where's Christine? Is she here, Brennan? Or Booth? Why are you by yourself?"

"She's fine…she's with Max," Brennan stated, matter of factly and without much emotion.

She was coping the best way she knew how; detachment.

So Angela set her on the couch,

started a kettle going on the stove,

and came back moments later to a sniffling Brennan with a cup of her favorite tea.

It was only then that she let enough emotion back in to tell Angela what had happened.

And,

contrary to her previous belief,

there was no Booth-bashing,

no yelling of "Oh my God!" or "He did _what_?!"

There was quiet shushing,

small arms comforting,

soothing hands squeezing.

Angela held her friend,

her best friend in the world,

and wondered how someone so strong could be left so broken.

She was angry, yes,

but she would get to that later.

In fact,

she thought she might not get to it at all.

This was more than Booth calling off their wedding for no reason.

Because the last time a wailing Brennan showed up on her caller ID at ten o'clock at night,

that was what had happened.

But everyone had known they were going to be married,

so she justified it as her business, too.

But this was Booth's demon.

This was Booth's demon and it had spun out of control to harm his family,

and she didn't think that anger would help here.

So perhaps she would leave it.

But either way,

it was not on her list of priorities at this moment.

No,

right now Angela was focused on cleaning up her best friend,

making her feel loved by someone in this world which had treated her so unfairly,

making sure she was fed and as well-rested as possible for that little someone she had to protect inside her, too.

So she called Hodgins,

told him without much explanation that she would be staying with Brennan tonight

(which she was grateful he didn't press her for,

knowing it would be told to him later).

She waited for Brennan to finish her tea,

saw her through a small wave of fresh tears,

took her to the bathroom where she washed her face,

helped her find pajamas to get into,

made sure she wasn't hungry,

and put her in bed.

It was actually rather routine;

she had been doing the same thing with Michael Vincent for so long that it was like second nature,

tucking someone into bed.

But this was different.

Because this was her full-grown,

torn up best friend laying down in the bed Angela sat on,

looking up at her with sad, brave eyes.

"Thanks, Ange," was more than she could manage.

"No, sweetie, you don't have to thank me, remember? I love you."

Brennan smiled begrudgingly at that.

"I'll be right in the back bedroom, okay? If you need me," she said.

The last thing she saw before she closed the bedroom door was Brennan curling into the smallest ball she could manage in her condition,

looking as though she was preparing for bed,

or another round of crying,

or some of both.


	7. She Meant What She Said

It wasn't as though she hadn't thought it through,

because she had.

It was just that she hadn't planned on talking about this

 _tonight._

But here they were,

almost nine o'clock,

and way past Christine's bedtime.

Brennan couldn't make her go to bed,

not now,

not as she watched her husband read her her fifth book,

emphasizing all the right words

and making silly voices for all the different characters.

Christine's face lit up like Brennan hadn't seen it in weeks.

She couldn't interrupt that.

She could hardly stand the fact that Booth and Brennan's problems affected their daughter, too.

She wished their problems were just that – _theirs_.

Or, even better,

that they didn't have any at all.

But they did.

And they did, in fact, affect their daughter.

And so Brennan could not make Christine go to bed,

could hardly tear her eyes from the scene of the two of them.

She thought that's where it came from.

The spontaneity, anyway.

Because as soon as Christine was sent to brush her teeth for bed,

Brennan started rambling.

It was something she didn't do very often because most of the time,

she had already specifically planned out each word so it was precise.

But on those rare occasions when she was spontaneous,

word vomit happened.

And so she rambled on about certainty and thinking things through and them and their relationship and his motives for being better and what would continue to make him better and –

until he stopped her.

With a single word,

he stopped her.

And she got to the point of what she had wanted to say all along,

which was,

"I have faith in you."

 _I miss you_.

"I want you to stay the night with me."

 _Please._

And he did.

He kissed her after that,

the first real kiss they had shared in a _long_ time.

 _Far too long,_ she thought.

They kissed until their foreheads met and their eyes were for only each other,

finally,

once more.

And then they kissed and kept on kissing,

and instead of stopping they didn't,

not caring for anything but the single touch which they had craved above all else for a month.

They kissed until their daughter called from down the hall,

"Mommy? Daddy? Are you coming to tuck me in?"

It was only then they forced themselves to stop.

She followed Booth to Christine's room,

where she watched as he sat down on her pink comforter,

looking very out of place and yet exactly where she wanted him,

and he leaned down to kiss her forehead,

tickle her nose with his,

and say goodnight.

"Will I see you tomorrow, Daddy?" she asked, somehow managing to still sound peppy while simultaneously becoming quite obviously drowsy.

He looked at his wife in response and smiled.

"Yes, baby, I'll see you in the morning. I might even make you pelvis pancakes, okay?"

She giggled as he gently tickled under her chin and kissed her again.

Brennan stepped in to kiss her, too,

then turned on her nightlight and closed the door until a crack was left.

She wandered her fingers around the space where his hand should be,

not looking down for fear of losing those deep brown eyes again,

until she gripped his hand in hers tightly and led him to her ( _their_ ) bedroom.

Everything was not the same.

It looked very much like it was,

but she still felt awkward at having to remind Booth where everything was,

or having to open a new toothbrush because his was still at his temporary place,

or changing into her pajamas in the bathroom because she wasn't ready for him to see her naked yet,

even though he had done so already, so very many times.

It was there with the door shut tight that she realized that kiss they shared in the living room was still just the beginning.

Their intimacy had been compromised;

they could not go back to their daily lives just because his presence in their house was constant once more.

No.

They would work very, very hard.

He would go to his meetings.

She would ensure that he did.

They would celebrate life's little victories together.

They would let time heal all wounds,

bathe each other in forgiveness

and compassion

and love.

She knew that tonight she would probably lay stiff as a board trying hard not to touch him,

to stay on her side of the bed.

She knew that tomorrow she'd wake up next to him and they would bump into each other often,

explaining new morning routines that had developed in his absence.

She knew he would have to go back to his place to change for work.

But she also felt sure of their future.

She meant what she said when she married him,

even if she hadn't believed in it before.

She knew that one day she would change into her pajamas in front of him,

get into her bed at night and curl into him like they used to,

like there were no sides to the bed.

There was only a bed.

And she knew that one day she'd wake up and take an extra long time giving him a good morning kiss,

and they would run breakfasts and baby feedings (because their second child was still very close to coming) and school drop-offs smoothly.

And she knew that she would come home at night with him,

in one car that they will have driven into work together,

because it was easier that way.

Because she had promised him that there would be messes.

 _You make my life messy and confusing…_

And she had promised him that he would take all rationality out of her life.

 _…and unfocused and irrational…_

But she had promised, too, that they would have a wonderful life.

 _...and wonderful._

She wasn't about to give up on that life now.

They were married.

There was a ring on her finger,

which sometimes she hardly even noticed,

but there was.

They were bound to one another.

Which meant that they had all the time in the world to figure this and everything else out.

She found that she wasn't worried about that one bit.


	8. Settling

_I've already been here longer than I wanted to be._

That seemed understandable.

 _This job was only supposed to be temporary._

Which she remembered,

and had often thought herself about her own job.

 _I don't want to know everything in my life._

That was where she lost her.

Not all the way;

no,

Brennan understood Angela's need for surprise,

for a little hint at chaos,

something less structured and predictable.

And Brennan craved that kind of life,

or rather,

craved to need that kind of life,

to be able to accept it.

But she knew that not knowing would drive her crazy.

She needed structure,

she needed rules and regulations and routine.

Perhaps not always those of others,

but those made for herself by herself.

A person who put whatever "faith" she had into physics

had to believe in structure.

And while she wanted to not know every bit of her life,

to live a little wildly,

a little more freely,

she really only craved one big change.

 _She wanted to settle down._

Others would say she already had;

she had a husband,

they lived (together again, she might add) in a house,

they had a daughter

and another child on the way.

And in some ways she supposed she was settled down.

At least,

far more than she ever anticipated ten years previously,

or even five.

But in others she was not.

There was no security in her life,

no promise that tomorrow would bring morning giggles from her daughter,

gentle prods that meant she _was_ still a mother,

her daughter was not left orphaned as she once was.

She hadn't realized until this new pregnancy how much fear existed in her day-to-day life.

She left the house not knowing if she'd come back.

She dropped Christine off at school not knowing if she'd be able to pick her up.

Her job itself was so demanding and dangerous that she,

as a pregnant woman,

was no longer allowed to hardly do it.

And she couldn't stand for that any longer.

She didn't know what had hit her,

what had caused her to change her mind so drastically

(as she rarely ever did),

but she no longer wanted the life she had.

She loved her job,

she really did;

it was her focus and her survival mechanism through so many bad years.

But she wanted to wake up every morning and face the man she loved,

the daughter whose little hands reached for hers,

and eventually the new baby (who Booth was _positive_ was a boy) whose cries would pierce the air and let her know she was needed.

She wanted to face the day with only the fear of not enough coffee,

or running out of soap,

or the baby spilling food,

or Christine scraping her knee.

She wanted the peace of mind that her husband would return to her every night,

that she would _always_ be available to pick up her daughter from preschool,

that her son and daughter would _always_ be able to laugh, or cry, or chatter with their parents,

that they would never have to enter into the foster system like she had.

And somehow she knew that all this could not be won without losing her job at the Jeffersonian.

She came to this realization about an hour after Angela had left her office,

half weeping, half laughing,

sharing moments and stories and plans with her best friend.

Brennan had gotten no work done after that;

she simply sat at her desk with an open case file,

staring blankly at the room and thinking to herself about her options.

And when none of these options included her position at the Jeffersonian,

she surprised herself with feeling,

rather than sad and afraid of the inevitable change,

like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders,

like she could breathe easy again even though she had never noticed a tightening in her chest up until now.

There came a pang of missing someone,

missing _a lot_ of someones,

but it was hidden so far underneath the happy and the opportunity and the prospect of feeling safe for the first time since she was fifteen years old and living in a house with both parents and a brother,

she hardly noticed it.

She had to talk to Booth.

And soon.


	9. Strengthening the Bond

She sat propped up by pillows in her bed.

Her honey hair was darkened with sweat as it stuck to her brow,

and beads pooled on her forehead and chest.

Her body ached and throbbed with its recent feat,

her lungs sucking in stuffy air of a room humid with human activity.

But she found that she really couldn't care less.

Because in her arms,

looking up at her with the slate blue eyes of a newborn,

and just as Booth had predicted he would be,

was her _son._

Born just moments before,

his little face,

which already looked _so_ like Booth's,

was still red,

trails of remnant tears streaking down both cheeks.

His bottom lip pouted out as he blinked in the new morning light into the eyes of his mother,

who mimicked him in that her own blue eyes pooled with emotion.

There was once a time where she did not know she could love.

And then came Angela,

who taught her friendship.

And Zack,

who taught her pride and protectiveness.

And Booth,

who opened the chasm of her heart wider than she had ever thought possible,

pouring love into every neglected crevice until she felt whole.

And still then her heart expanded,

grew to stretch widely over her daughter the moment she arrived,

Brennan simply standing in awe,

unable to control it.

She knew a mother's love then.

She understood its impact.

And still she was not prepared for the moment her new son's cries pierced the air,

the very moment her heart opened so wide it felt as though she needed a bigger chest, a bigger body, to contain it all,

for surely the feeling rushed to the tips of each finger,

each toe,

right out into each tear that fell from her face.

She felt so full of love.

So very, very full,

looking into his face,

quelling his soft whimpers as he was passed to her,

swaddled and becoming content in his newfound warmth.

He lay in her arms and she had never felt more complete.

She was pulled from her reverie by the doctor,

who Booth had _insisted_ be present,

just as she had _insisted_ the baby be born in their own home this time.

And suddenly gentle words were said and soft pulls were made and her baby was off of her chest and into the arms of another woman,

who already he immediately recognized as foreign,

unfamiliar and incapable of true comfort.

He wailed and her heart felt as though it might break.

Well, as though it might be crushed, anyway.

It took far too long for his measurements to be taken,

his squirming body to be weighed,

his vitals checked.

Finally,

he was handed to his father,

who subsequently passed him to his mother,

who craved his touch so unbearably,

she curled him into her chest,

laying a blanket over his back,

feeling nothing but sweet, soft, naked baby skin on the skin of her chest,

kissing the top of his curlicue dark-haired head,

and letting out a breath of contentment which ached to escape from her.

A few more questions,

mostly answered by Booth as Brennan was in no state to pay attention,

a few quick prods here and there,

and the doctor was gone,

and with her the equipment which looked so foreign in their home.

At last it was Booth, Brennan,

and the boy who slept against his mother.

She pulled her eyes from him to kiss his father,

strong and good and hard,

for bringing this child into the world with her,

for loving her ceaselessly,

for _being_ there, after all they had been through these past months;

for everything that she could not communicate into words.

And when he pulled away she knew he understood.

They spent an hour or so just looking at him,

talking softly over the sounds of his infant breathing,

lifting the blanket to admire perfectly crafted wrinkly toes.

The doorbell rang and Booth went to answer it,

knowing this first visitor's arrival (although truly, she was not any more a visitor than this child laying across his mother) was the most important of all.

Max led her in,

holding her hand as she very uncharacteristically hesitated over the threshold of her own home.

Christine was willingly lifted into her father's arms,

immediately hiding her face in the crook of his neck,

gripping his t-shirt into little fists.

Max asked how it went,

how they were,

all the little details as Booth closed the door and led them up the stairs.

They opened the bedroom door to a familiar (though exhausted looking) face,

cooing gently to the bundle settled under her chin.

At their arrival,

Brennan turned with unfettered joy toward her baby girl and her father,

who let a sigh of awe escape him.

His desire to hold this new grandchild was evident even to Brennan,

but he held back and let Booth carry the suddenly shy girl over to her mother.

He settled on her side of the bed gently,

so as not to disturb the baby's sleep or Brennan's condition.

"Hey, sweetheart," Brennan said softly,

prodding Christine's foot as it dangled from Booth's arm.

"How was the night at Grandpa's?"

She tickled gently,

and with this,

a singular eye poked out from behind Booth's strong jawline,

followed by a nose and a matching blue iris.

She still clung desperately to Booth's shirt,

shrugging in response to her mother's question.

Brennan let a small chuckle escape at her normally outspoken child's behavior.

"Honey, do you remember the baby in Mommy's tummy?"

Nod.

"How sometimes he would poke at you or kick your hand?"

Another nod.

"That was your baby brother, remember?

Do you want to meet him?"

Another, albeit slow, nod.

Brennan slowly sat up further,

prying the sleeping boy from her chest as she did so.

She unraveled the blanket draped over him and settled him into view.

"See? This is Zach. This is your little brother."

Christine's grip loosened slowly on her father's shirt,

just enough to bring a little hand over even smaller arms,

ears,

a nose.

She was instinctually gentle,

fear and hesitation prompting her to barely graze over the newborn's skin.

Even so,

his nose scrunched up and his eyes opened wide,

letting a few soft cries of complaint escape him.

Christine immediately removed her hand,

recoiling back into her father's embrace.

"It's okay, darling,

it's alright.

Babies are supposed to cry.

It isn't your fault," Brennan cooed, pulling the baby back up to her shoulder and patting his back reassuringly.

She gave Booth a look which he took to mean,

 _We'll try again later_ ,

and she proceeded to hand the now quiet bundle to his grandfather,

letting them get to know each other as her daughter,

gradually regaining her exuberance in the baby's absence,

filled her in on the night she had at her grandfather's.

Brennan laughed at her daughter's musings

while Booth answered questions posed by Max.

When Christine casually crawled into Brennan's lap and was met with a wince and a slight discomforted escape of breath,

she curiously met her mother's shut eyes.

"Are you hurt Mommy? Did I hurt you?"

Ever the compassionate one,

her little face contorted in worry.

Brennan adjusted her so she lay more comfortably in her lap.

"No, baby. It's just that the labor process is often quite damaging to the –"

Booth interrupted, "It's hard to have a baby, Christine. Mommy's just a little sore."

"Oh."

She snuggled into Brennan nevertheless,

and Brennan cherished this small moment with her daughter,

letting her mind drift back to that birth,

that all-changing moment in time.

She made them a family.

And Zach,

he strengthened that familial bond.

She felt their love,

both for each other and for each of their children,

stretching wide and strong over their home,

present in each life they were now in charge of.

And she would continue to feel it,

that night as they settled their big girl into her big girl bed

and wedged their son between them.

The next night when his 2:00 feeding woke Christine and they sat in the darkened light of the nursery together,

rocking and singing softly.

She didn't know it yet,

but she would feel the expansion in her home

every night,

even if only in the most imperceptible ways,

until padded onesie feet became thundering teenage steps,

and once loud kitchen tables became just she and Booth again.

She would feel the love Booth started within her rise to greet each life at her door,

be it child or grandchild.

She knew there was a time where she didn't know if she could love.

But by the end,

she could hardly remember what that ever felt like.


	10. Wanting It Anyway

The baby monitor's muted impressions of the baby crying woke her first.

She stifled the volume so as not to wake Booth

(he had gotten up quite frequently the night before)

and padded over,

eyes barely open,

to the room next door which served as the nursery.

The soft spring light was just beginning to form over the horizon

and the earliest of birds were singing their songs.

Her son's cries were quelled almost instantly as she pulled him gently from his crib.

She began the by now instinctual process of cooing

"Oh, I know,"s and "It's okay"s and soft shushes,

checking for signs of his diaper being full or his stomach being empty.

It was all habit,

although she had known the moment she heard his crying that this particular time,

he didn't need anything.

Well, nothing but love anyway.

So she settled herself in the rocking chair which faced away from the bright sun,

holding Zach to her chest and patting his back soothingly,

all the while keeping up with her soft coos and baby babble.

It felt like seconds later when she awoke to the slight weight of her son being lifted from her arms.

Booth looked as though he was trying to be discrete,

though upon seeing her eyes flutter open,

he made his work quick and settled his son in one arm like a football,

using the other to pull Brennan up from her chair and plant a quick morning kiss on her lips.

"Morning, Bones."

He was smiling, looking at her with what Angela would have called puppy dog eyes.

She was surprised she noticed his look at all, what with all her efforts being devoted to keeping herself standing and her eyes open.

"G'morning."

She unashamedly yawned and stretched her arms as high as a woman her size could reach.

"Coffee?" Booth suggested with a knowing waggle of his eyebrow.

"Mmm…coffee."

With another kiss, this time to her forehead,

the two padded to their kitchen,

where Booth planted Zach in his wife's arms,

only to later trade baby for coffee.

Baby in hand,

Booth was just beginning to make omelets (eggless for Brennan)

when a sleepy four-year-old shuffled in,

clad in pink bunny slippers and matching pajamas

and sporting a very extreme case of bedhead.

Her aim had settled on her mother,

who pulled her up onto her lap,

enjoying the quiet routine of morning time kisses and snuggles.

By the time Booth had pulled out the hashbrowns and bacon,

gentle pleads of,

"Mommy, can we turn on _Sofia_?"

were met with the dull roar of the princess show

and a small audience of three gathered on the couch beneath the tv.

Christine gradually awoke more to fully engage in the frequent dancing and conversation prompted by the show

(which Brennan came to applaud from her position nursing her very hungry baby boy from the couch).

The only thing to pull her from her cartoon reverie was Booth's cry of breakfast being set on the table,

after which the tv was muted,

the little girl seated,

and her plate piled up with food (especially bacon, while Mommy couldn't see from the living room).

Once Zach was done,

Brennan joined her little (bit bigger) family in the kitchen,

placing a quelled and full baby in his swinging bassinet and pulling him right near her side as she ate.

"I thought I'd take Christine to school and go in to work for a little bit today.

Doesn't have to be long if you think you'll need help this afternoon," Booth said between bites.

"Do I have to go to school?"

"Yes," both parents answered in unison.

"No, stay as long as you need. I'm so tired today I'm not sure we'll get anything done,

will we Zach?"

At this, Brennan stuck her hand in the bassinet where Zach wrapped his fists tightly around two fingers.

Settling plans for the day,

Booth cleaned up the breakfast mess while Brennan managed to get Christine dressed and ready for the day despite the little girl's constant efforts to wear anything but the outfit Brennan had picked out for her.

Finally,

after the least hectic,

yet still somewhat chaotic,

morning Brennan had had in a while,

her husband, clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans,

led their daughter out to his car.

Watching them,

Brennan was hit with the conflicting feeling of complete and utter happiness

coupled with total unfamiliarity.

She still could hardly believe at times that she had quit the steady job she had maintained for over ten years now.

She couldn't believe that her job, which had once taken precedence over all other aspects of her life,

now had taken a backseat.

Seeing Booth leave for work with their daughter

as she watched from the open doorway,

still wearing plaid pajama pants and holding a baby,

Brennan felt more domestic than she thought she would ever feel in her life.

Sometimes she still wondered how she got to this place.

Not that it was bad;

far from it, actually.

But where was the Brennan that felt soothed by regimentation,

the one who stayed up at all hours of the night to piece together an obliterated skull,

who traveled to all reaches of the world to run digs,

who placed everything (relationships, free time, family) under her work?

She found she was rather excited for that Brennan to be gone.

She knew she was still the same person;

she enjoyed schedules,

and she still valued forensic anthropology and the opportunities it had lent her,

not to mention the invaluable place it took in her life when she had no one.

But now she stayed up at all hours of the night to feed a crying, hungry, or wet baby.

She traveled only the distance it took to get to the grocery store every week,

or to Angela's house every once in a while.

Realizing that change,

it was hard not to analyze all the steps it took for her to get to this place.

This very, very happy place of love

and family

and baby belly laughter that she never thought she'd want.

But here she was,

wanting it anyway.

Giving up her job at the Jeffersonian had been difficult, sure,

but looking out at her daughter holding the much larger hand of her husband,

feeling her baby's gentle tugging at her shirt,

his instinctual need to be closer, closer,

she knew there had never been anything more worth it.


End file.
